


slow hands

by queenhomeslice



Series: Promptio One-Shots [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Awkward Boners, Crownsguard Training (Final Fantasy XV), Kissing, M/M, Massage, Mutual Pining, Neck Kissing, Sexual Tension, implied inappropriate use of massage oil, promptio
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-18 16:36:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28621176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenhomeslice/pseuds/queenhomeslice
Summary: Prompto starts his Crownsguard training, much to the dismay of his muscles. Gladio offers to help.
Relationships: Gladiolus Amicitia/Prompto Argentum
Series: Promptio One-Shots [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2097294
Comments: 13
Kudos: 51





	slow hands

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I am not affiliated with Square Enix or any production studios behind the Final Fantasy franchise or Final Fantasy XV; I am not making money from this work and I do not own the rights to FF in any way. 
> 
> _____  
> No explicit sex here but rated M for dirty internal monologuing and nudity. Also I know there are several songs with the name or lyric "slow hands" but I am not taking any inspiration from them. This fic is just titled slow hands because it's about massaging, so there.

“Wonder when Prom’s gonna get here?” asks Noctis, draped lazily over his couch, wrapped up in plush blankets that he keeps collecting, like a dragon hoarding gold. At least he showered, which Ignis is thankful for. The adviser is curled up into the adjacent armchair with an open laptop, doing the work that Noctis ignores, as usual. He lifts his head. 

“Surely he texted you?” 

Noctis shakes his head, frowning at the new RPG he’s been grinding on for the last week. “He just said he’d be by sometime today, didn’t say when. And it’s already four.” 

Ignis thinks that Noctis would be much better off if he put seventy hours into the business of Lucis than into video games, but he bites his tongue. He looks at Gladiolus, who’s snuggled in yet another blanket on the far end of the couch, thick novel in his hand. Ignis doesn’t miss the slight blush that creeps onto Gladio’s handsome, scarred face at the mention of Prompto’s name. 

“You’ve only been awake for two hours, Noctis. Besides, doesn’t Prompto have a part time job?” 

“Yeah,” Noct breathes, annoyed, furiously button-mashing. “Quit going after my white mage, goddammit!” he yells. 

Ignis rolls his eyes as he shakes his head and looks back at the spreadsheets on his laptop. 

“Maybe he’s with Cor,” says Gladio after a few minutes of near-silence that are only interspersed with Noct’s fussing about the current boss battle. 

Ignis looks up. “The Marshal? Ah, of course.” 

Noctis pauses his game and looks to his right. “Wait...why would he be with Cor?” 

Gladio lowers his novel and places the bookmark in it. “Well, he did apply for the guard.” 

Noct’s jaw drops. “What?” He whips to Ignis. “You knew about this?” 

Ignis swallows tightly. “I would’ve preferred to wait until he’d actually been accepted,” he says, looking pointedly at Gladio. “But I suppose the cat is out of the bag. Yes, Prompto has applied for the Crownsguard. Specifically, to be added to your personal retinue, along with Gladiolus and myself.” 

Noctis huffs. “I didn’t want him to do that.” 

“Kid’s got a one-track mind,” Gladio says. “I talked to him for a long time about everything. Even had him talk with some of the city guards. He shadowed Nyx for like six hours the other day. He wouldn’t stop talking about it.” 

“Why didn’t _I_ know about this?” Noctis mutters, going back to his game. 

“Your government email address is frequently updated with confidential information, including classified military documents. Prompto’s name would have been in an attached PDF, had you cared to look, instead of leaving...” Ignis clicks around. “...Over twenty thousand emails left in your inbox unread.” 

Noctis shrugs. “It’s boring.” 

“It’ll be your job someday, Princess,” says Gladio, going back to his book. “Gotta start caring sometime.” 

“I’m only nineteen,” the prince mutters. But before he can say anything else, his phone buzzes. Noctis reaches it, and smiles when he sees the name on the screen. 

“Hey Prom!” 

Ignis and Gladio can hear the blond’s voice clearly as he breathlessly pants, “ _Are you_ _home?!”_

“Yeah dude, we’re all here. Me, Specs, Gladio.” 

“Great! Because I’m walking up the stairs right now!” 

Noctis hangs up and practically warps to the door, opening it just as Prompto comes into view. His violet-blue eyes are wide, and his grin is so big it threatens to tear his face in two. 

“I got in!” He throws his arms wide, and Noctis notices the stamped papers in his right hand. “Dude! I’m part of the Crownsguard now! No more dollar store for me!” 

Noctis only blinks while an invisible knife twists in his heart. “Yeah, I...Specs told me. And Gladio.” 

Prompto drops his arms, pretty freckled face quickly losing its mirth. “You’re not...you don’t seem excited.” He bites his lip. “I’m sorry, did I—did I do something wrong?” 

“No, Prom, I just—I didn’t want you to have to...to fight. To feel obligated to...” 

“Hey,” says Prompto. “No, dude, listen. I _wanted_ to do this. I’ve wanted to do this for _forever_. And now I can like, truly belong with you guys!” He smiles again, gently, peering around his prince to meet other four eyes that are staring at him. He meets Gladio’s gaze and flushes red, unconsciously licking his lips. 

“You’ve always belonged,” says Noctis, confused. But he steps aside and lets his best friend into the apartment. 

Prompto drops his chocobo-shaped backpack and shucks out of his boots, following Noctis to the couch and curling up between him and Gladio. “I hope my parents are proud of me. They’re supposed to be back in town tomorrow, so I’m gonna tell them then.” He pauses. “You’re really not excited for me?” 

Noctis hears the hurt in Prompto’s voice and turns, picking up his controller. “If this is what you want to do, then I’m excited, Prom. But I want you to know you’ve always belonged here.” 

Prompto beams at him, relaxing. “Thanks buddy. I promise I’m going to throw myself into this a hundred and ten percent.” 

Ignis smirks. “Don’t think we’ll go easy on you in training, just because you’re our friend, Prompto.” 

Prompto laughs brightly—Gladio tries and fails to quell the butterflies in his stomach. “Don’t worry Igster. In fact, you should probably go harder on me because of it!” 

Gladio’s brain launches itself into orbit. Oh, he’d love to _go harder_ on Prompto, all right. He swallows, thankful that he’s had a lot of years to train his emotions. His voice comes out casual and even. “You can count on that for sure, Blondie,” he says, slapping him on the back. But he can’t help the rush he gets as he looks at his hand on Prompto’s slender form. 

“I can’t wait,” Prompto teases, looking at Gladio. He gives him a once over and yawns. “You got any room under than blanket, big guy?” 

Gladio tenses but lifts up the excess anyway; Prompto snuggles in, sighing softly at the heat Gladio’s generated. Gladio can hear his quickened heartbeat as Prompto unashamedly curls to his side and uses his bicep as a pillow. 

Noctis presses himself close to Prompto and turns the game back on, unaware of the shield’s feelings. Ignis stares at Gladio and lifts an eyebrow, but Gladio’s amber eyes only burn a hole in his historical fiction novel. 

______ 

It’s the end of the fourth week of training already for Prompto; he bends in half, letting his gun fall back into the Armiger as he places his hands on his knees and catches his breath. It’s Saturday morning, and he’s been training with Noctis and company for the past four hours, learning to work in tandem with their long-established battle techniques. More of an emphasis is placed on him working with Noctis, but he and Ignis have devised a pretty cool tactic using Ignis’ polearm, and Prompto’s just over-the-moon giddy about shaping himself into a warrior. 

“I’m done,” says Noctis, waving away his engine blade and collapsing onto the dirt. 

“Good job today, Prompto,” says Ignis as he lets his own daggers fade into the Armiger as well. “I’m pleased at our special moves. They’re really taking shape.” 

Prompto looks up, dusting the dirt from his black skinny jeans. “That means a lot, Igster.” He looks over to Noctis, who’s curled up on the ground like a cat. “Buddy,” says Prompto, kicking at Noct’s ass. “C’mon. Food time? We’re going to the noodle place right?” 

Ignis frowns, looking at his phone. “Unfortunately, his Highness’ schedule has changed.” Ignis walks over to Noctis and scoops him up into his arms, as though Noctis isn’t anything more than a sack of potatoes. “We’re due somewhere at three. You and Gladio may go, if you like. We will have to rain check.” 

Noctis just groans as he clings to Ignis, muttering under his breath. 

“I refuse to have you show up to this meeting looking like a houseless bum,” Ignis scolds as he carries Noctis to the locker rooms. 

Prompto only laughs as he watches them retreat, finally turning to Gladio. _Damn_. Prompto always knew this would be difficult, but seeing Gladio actually get all sweaty while wearing little more than tiny gym shorts and tennis shoes is really doing a number on him. He can’t wait to rub one out later to the memory of Gladio’s grunting and his bulging muscles, only feeling slightly guilty that he’s been having wet dreams about Gladio for like four years now. It’s all Gladio’s fault for practically being allergic to clothes. 

Prompto clears his throat and goes to rotate his shoulder, wincing, left hand immediately flying to it. “Ah fuck,” he mumbles. 

“You okay, Blondie?” says Gladio gently, letting his sword fizzle into blue sparkles with the rest of the group’s weapons. 

Prompto sighs. “I’m just using muscles I didn’t know I had,” he laughs weakly. “I’ll get stronger Gladio, don’t worry. No pain no gain, right?” 

“Yeah but, you still don’t want to overdo it. You’re very new to all of this. You don’t wanna strain yourself too hard. The flexibility and stamina will come in time.” 

Prompto flushes pink. “St-stamina. Right.” He rolls his neck and it pops, making him jump. “Holy shit.” 

“You need a massage, Prompto,” says Gladio, clapping him on the shoulder. 

“Ha! Like my incredible military stipend allows me to get massages.” He giggles at Gladio. “I’ll look up some free yoga on MoogTube or something. No worries big guy.” 

Gladio frowns, “That’s also a good idea, but you gotta take care of yourself on a deeper level. Then he cocks his head, face lighting up. “There’s a spa on one of the top floors of the Citadel. It’s Saturday, so the therapists are out, but uh.” Gladio swallows, mouth speaking before his brain can stop it. “I could give you a rub, if you want.” 

Prompto’s brain nearly short-circuits. _You can give me a rub all right_. “Oh, no, Gladio, that’s okay, I’ll--” 

“Prompto. If you continue to try to do all of this new exercise while in chronic pain, you’re gonna ruin your body in the long run. And then you won’t be able to help Noctis at all.” He folds his arms and draws up to his full height, shooting Prompto his best intimidation face. 

Prompto gulps and shivers. He knows Gladio’s trying to be stern and bully him, but damn if the dream of the royal shield manhandling him all to pieces isn’t his top fantasy. Gladio being all intimidating just goes straight to his groin. “Okay, uh. If you’re sure, dude.” 

“Let’s shower,” says Gladio, relaxing, pleased that Prompto’s taking him up on it, “And then we’ll head up there.” 

_______ 

Gladio leads him to a quiet room with a masseuse bed, a small bubbling tabletop fountain, a speaker that’s playing calming soundscapes, and a space heater. They drop their bags and Prompto looks at the bed, then to the table that has towels and lavender massage oil. He starts to panic, because Prompto is one thousand percent sure that Gladio kneading his back with all of his strength is gonna give him the biggest boner on Eos. 

“Strip to your comfort level,” says Gladio as he pulls back the sheet and the weighted blanket, cracking his knuckles and moving to the table with the oil. 

Prompto bites his lip. _Gladio masseuse AU_ was definitely not something he’d thought he’d ever get to experience but here he is. He only hopes Gladio won’t be angry at him for his body’s response. He’ll really try. Maybe he’ll think about chocobos instead. Or taxes. Or scary movies. 

Prompto strips down to his underwear, and he hesitates to pull the band down on his tight red boxer briefs. “Uh,” he says. It’s not like they haven’t seen each other naked. Prompto’s seen Gladio in the nude a hundred times by now—it's how he knows that the shield is hung like a motherfucker, and how he knows that he desperately wants Gladio’s monster dick to kill him slowly. 

Gladio turns, smirking, his own arousal briefly taking a back seat to Prompto’s nervousness. “It’s just me, Prompto. I’ll turn around if you want.” 

“Okay,” says Prompto, and waits for Gladio to face the wall as he trips out of his shorts and flies to the bed, lying face down on the heated table and groaning in relief as he settles his head inside of the open-faced headrest. “Oooooh fuck this feels good.” 

Gladio laughs and turns, glad that Prompto can’t see the look on his face. His eyes are fixated on Prompto’s trim, freckled back. But Gladio never wants to make Prompto uncomfortable, so he pulls the sheet and blanket up over him, and clears his throat. “I’m gonna start, Prompto. You just let me know if you’re in any pain, okay? I’ll stop at any time.” 

Prompto’s gremlin brain manages not to say something along the lines of “Please don’t stop,” and he just nods. “Sounds good big guy. I’m fine.” 

Gladio runs his hands over Prompto’s covered back and shoulders, gently trailing down over his ass and to his toned runner’s legs. He increases the pressure as he moves back up to his head, drawing back the blankets and tucking them snug around prompto’s hips. Gladio sucks in a breath as he briefly looks at the dip of Prompto’s spine above his pert rear, blankets curving over the soft mound. Gladio curses himself internally—he thought he’d be okay with this, but apparently this intimate setting is too much for him. He slowly moves to pump oil on his hands, warming it up in his palms, and he bends over Prompto’s head, placing his hands flat on Prompto’s shoulder blades and pushes down, rubbing the length of him with hardly a stretch or effort. 

As soon as Gladio begins to rub those thick, strong hands over Prompto’s back, the younger man softly moans in approval as Gladio digs into his back. He winces at some parts of Gladio’s ministrations, but it’s the good kind of hurt, and Prompto would pay all of his meager savings to have Gladio do this forever. The shield moves from side to side, using different techniques on his neck, shoulders, spine; Gladio kneads Prompto’s sore, calloused hands and Prompto just about melts through the table. 

“We gotta get you some gloves, Blondie,” says Gladio, shifting on the chair by the bed as he holds Prompto’s bare hand, rubbing the stiff joints. 

Prompto groans. “Sure thing,” he slurs, watching in horror as his drool hits the floor. He feels Gladio tuck his arms back to his sides, stuffing the blanket and sheet back around his torso. Gladio stands and rubs his hands over his legs, drawing up the covers on the right side. Prompto shivers as those strong hands begin to rub more oil into his thighs and calves. He’s lying here, salivating, cock throbbing yet unable to get fully hard, as Gladio works over his legs. It seems like an eternity before Gladio goes to the other one and digs into his hamstrings on the left. 

Gladio grunts with the light effort he’s putting into massaging Prompto’s compact, strong body. He feels the tender, developing muscles under Prompto’s soft skin and smiles. He really is proud of the young man, even though he’s still scrappy and raw. He’s a wizard with firearms, something Gladio had never expected, especially since learning that Prompto had worn glasses as a child. His dedication to Noctis probably rivals his own and Iggy’s, too—and that means a lot to Gladio, more than Prompto could ever know. It doesn’t help that Prompto doesn’t seem to know how adorably _cute_ he is. 

Gladio swallows hard as he draws back the thick weighted blanket and sheet down over the curve of Prompto’s ass. “You okay? Gonna get your glutes.” 

Prompto’s brain is fucking fried. “Sure!” he quips, voice three octaves higher than normal. _Don’t be weird don’t be weird don’t be weird._

Gladio’s hand connects hard with one of Prompto’s cheeks as he digs into it, and Gladio can’t stop thinking about what it would feel like to slip into Prompto’s tight little hole and fuck him silly. He wonders if Prompto’s a virgin. Something tells Gladio that he is, but then again, the plucky blond seems to be full of surprises these days. 

Prompto is actually, literally, dead. Gladio’s massaging his ass and holy fuck, thinking about chocobos and taxes isn’t working when Gladio’s fingers are so near to his most intimate of places. His muscles feel amazing now. He’s somehow relaxed and riled up all at the same time. The feel of Gladio’s skin against his own is gonna be spank bank material for the next ten years, he thinks idly as Gladio continues. 

“Okay, Prom. Turn over.” 

Prompto blinks—he'd nearly dozed off. He can feel himself growing wet, the head of his cock sticky with precum from Gladio touching him. He lifts his head, turning in the direction of Gladio’s voice. “Huh? Whazzit?” 

Gladio chuckles. “C’mon, turn over. I’ll get your shoulders and arms from the front.” 

Prompto shivers. Once he turns over, there’s no hiding his arousal. “Oh, no Gladio, that’s okay—I feel great, man, really. You’ve done enough! I’m fine, I’m cool. Uh. You can go and then I’ll get dressed and uh. Go.” 

Gladio huffs. “I ain’t done. Turn _over_.” 

And damn if Prompto doesn’t have a kink for Gladio sternly telling him what to do, so he slowly flips, squinting his eyes and bracing himself for Gladio’s inevitable angry and disgusted reaction. He's nothing but a kinky little perv, and he knows he deserves every insult Gladio’s gonna throw his way. 

Gladio holds up the sheet and dutifully averts his gaze, only looking back when Prompto squeaks the ok. He lays the sheet back down onto him—and pauses. The middle of the sheet is very clearly tented, with slight twitching; and yet Prompto’s arms are resting at his sides. The blond’s face is flushed the deepest shade of red Gladio’s ever seen on him—which is saying something, because he’s incredibly easy to fluster—and he’s biting his lip. Gladio can see slight moisture at the corners of Prompto’s eyes that he barely refrains from wiping away. 

“Prompto,” he says gently. 

“I’m sorry I’m so fucking _sorry_ ,” Prompto blurts, scrunching his face and sniffing. “It felt so good Gladio I’m _so_ sorry, you have every right to be angry, I didn’t mean to--” 

Gladio lifts an eyebrow, eyes drifting back down to Prompto’s trapped cock. “I did this to you?” 

Prompto sniffs some more. “Yeah, _gods_ , Gladio, you like...do this to me a lot.” Prompto opens his eyes and chances a look at the royal shield. He hasn’t been cursed out yet, which is good. 

Gladio stares at Prompto’s wide eyes that are nearly blacked out with lust. The poor guy is trembling, looking at Gladio like a trapped mouse. 

“I do this to you,” Gladio repeats, bending low until he’s inches away from Prompto’s face. He reaches out to cup Prom’s angular jaw gently, stroking away the tears that have settled on his freckles. 

Prompto sniffs hard again, nearly frozen with both fear and arousal, and nods. 

“How long?” Gladio has to know. Gladio _has_ to know. 

“Uh,” Prompto says, voice scratchy. He coughs. “F-four years? Give or take?” 

Gladio lets out a long exhale. “Then this is _long_ overdue,” he says, leaning down to close the gap between them. 

The jolt of pleasure that Prompto gets as he melts into Gladio’s kiss travels down to his bare fucking feet, making his cock jump and his hips grind up against the soft sheets of the massage table. Gladio snakes his arm around Prompto’s bare back and pulls him up, jerking back the covers with his opposite hand. He manhandles Prompto to his front and lifts him, smiling into Prompto’s mouth as the blond locks his ankles just above Gladio’s ass. Gladio kneads those soft little cheeks again as he slams Prompto against the adjacent wall and swallows Prompto’s wanton moans. 

“Fu-fuck, _Gladio_ , oh my god...” Prompto whines desperately when Gladio pulls away to suck marks into his long, pale neck. 

“What is it, baby,” Gladio mutters into his skin. He’s burning up from the inside out. He can feel Prompto’s short, thick cock throbbing against his abs and it’s driving him crazy. 

Prompto whines, bucking against Gladio, even as the shield holds him suspended in the air, dragging sharp teeth along his collarbones. _Baby_. Prompto can’t take it anymore. “Please fuck me,” he groans. “Or let me blow you. Or jerk me off. Something. _Anything_.” 

Gladio pulls away and admires the blooming bruise on Prompto’s shoulder. “Yeah? Is that what you want?” 

“Please,” Prompto sobs desperately. 

Gladio looks to the little table where the massage oil and the hand towels are and gets a hundred ideas at once. He looks back at Prompto, smirking. “It would be my pleasure.” 


End file.
